


right here (now again)

by lonelyparts



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied Mpreg, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 06:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1540304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonelyparts/pseuds/lonelyparts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’d been a week but she’s still without a name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	right here (now again)

**Author's Note:**

> title, excerpt from _If Not, Winter: Fragments of Sappho_ translated by Anne Carson

She’s calm and dozing by the third circuit of the tiny kitchen space, her face losing its angry red tinge. He adjusts her in his arms, fingers curling around her slight bulk. He can feel every inhale, exhale. It’s been a trying week since they’d left the hospital, a crash course in everything baby baby baby. 

The first few days, he could barely leave the bed, body adjusting to being solo again. He’d installed her in bed beside him, made a fort of rolled up blankets and pillows, paranoid that she’d wiggle off his small bed. They’d stayed like that for hours, Erik staring at her tiny face, scrunching up every now and then, her fluttering eyelids, the curve of her nose. 

He’d soothe her infrequent whimpers with a stroke along her head, a soft kiss to temple, and she’d quiet, usually. Sometimes the whimpers grew into cries, and he’d heave himself upright to feed her, change her, or go for a limping walk around the room when rocking didn’t seem enough. 

She liked to be carried, it usually did the trick, or maybe it was the motion she enjoyed, the rocking and feel of momentum. He’d have to figure out a way to procure a swing soon, make one himself out of metal scraps if it came to it, he’d figure it out. For now his arms were enough. 

She’d fallen asleep, here in the kitchen, soon Erik’d move to settle her into the crib beside his bed. He’d have to call his mother to check in again, get the baby’s formula ready for when she woke, do things, move around. But not yet, he wanted to fix this moment in his memory, the soft morning light glossing over her chubby cheeks, the almost elf-like ears, the nose that wasn’t his but looked familiar. As familiar as an unforgettable face, dazzling smile, warm hands. 

He set his jaw and pulled her closer to his chest. It’d been a week but she’s still without a name. His throat feels tight, a mess of feelings he doesn’t care to untangle, when he thinks about her father, about a name. Somewhere, there’s a number he could call, a message he could send, but. He looks down at his little girl and Charles is everywhere. Except here. He swallows and starts walking. “Let’s go take a nap, baby girl.”

[or the following day, hopeful ending option]

Erik hadn’t expended great effort in dressing that morning; a bathrobe over his shirt and shorts, a fresh onesie patterned with little yellow chicks for her. They’d finished their breakfast and he got started on rinsing out her bottle, his coffee cup. The baby’d entertained herself with drooling onto his shoulder, her intermittent chirps and coos accompanying the rushing of the water. 

The knock at the door was unexpected and Erik froze, he felt her still too. He’d looked down at her when the knock came again. She gurgled, kicking out her legs as if tickled. Then, _Erik._

**Author's Note:**

> ficlet inspired by the following still from _William and Mary_ (S3E3):  
> 


End file.
